Prompted
by SineTimore
Summary: A collection of three short stories in response to prompts suggested via the Kink of the Castle holiday hiatus event. **RE-POST ONLY TO CORRECT FORMAT**


**Disclaimer:** This material is, unfortunately, inappropriate for ABC. If I had ever worked for Castle, I am fairly certain that they would now fire me.

**AN:** Many of you may have already read these on LiveJournal for the Kink of the Castle holiday hiatus event. I wanted to have all of my stories consolidated into one place so I'm merely moving them to as well. Please be aware that these were written on the fly and haven't been edited. Mistakes here, as in the rest of my work, are entirely mine. Thanks, as always, for putting up with my fumbling, bumbling and beginner's shortcomings. _** Thanks to the guest who told me that the story originally posted in all bold type though that's not how it appeared on my edit screen (weird!). So, this is a RE-POST **_

* * *

_**Castle/Beckett:**_

_**"She can't get enough of running her fingers through his hair, especially while riding his face, grinding herself against his smooth lips and prominent chin."**_

Their day had been _a day_and all they really want at this point is to flee to the comfort of her apartment to rid themselves of it. Dinner is out of cartons again, a welcome sacrifice for quiet and calm and alone together - without interruption, they agree.

Perhaps it's another day's loud and clear message that life is too short, or the way the soft light of the solitary lamp hits his drained but now food contented face from across the room, or the feeling that comes over her when he catches her staring and he throws her that subtle but knowing grin - the reason for her overwhelming desire for him at this moment is the sum total of all of those things and the motivation for the slow crawl she embarks on to prove it.

Her journey is a short one but offers the seconds her brain requires to process the impending touch of his most masculine hands, of his large, thick fingers, and the tiny hairs on her arms stand at attention, waiting. She doesn't say a word but her eyes speak volumes. She knows he hears her, not by any audible acknowledgement but rather by way of his lips which part ever so slightly in anticipation.

He too sits on her floor, legs outstretched in front of him, a pillow in his lap, relaxed. She straddles him at his sock clad feet, grabs his ankles, then his calves, then his thighs, higher, as a climber does a rope, until the pillow is all that keeps her from the destination she most wants to reach.

He discards it with the flash of a hand and seizes her hips. She attempts to slide her knees slowly wider, down. She needs to feel him, feel him hard against her, to quench the pulsing of her sex. And he knows it.

The grip of his hands grows stronger and her movement ceases. As their eyes meet, an understanding is born. His fingers slide around the waistband of her jeans and leave a tickle on her belly which she chooses to recognize yet ignore with the help of a bite to her lower lip. He notices and the speed of his actions increases in turn. He tears the button from its home with such force that her zipper descends simultaneously. She grabs at his hair to steady herself, the feel of which causes her hips to buck into his face, unintentional but precisely as he wishes.

He can smell her, body lotion, musk, and this day. He runs the tip of his tongue lazily against her panties and hears her breath catch, the first sound either has made in what feels like an eternity.

"So, Detective Beckett, I brought dinner tonight and I think it's only fair that you provide the dessert," he teases as he frees her warmth from the denim and satin.

"Castle," she exhales breathily, "it was so much nicer when you weren't talki.."

His mouth is on her then as he draws dreamy circles, small and targeted, with his slippery tongue; her slick folds welcome every flick. Her hands haven't surrendered their grip on his now thoroughly mussed hair and he uses that as a barometer to dictate his actions. There is always a point in this game when she takes the control from him. He readily acquiesces.

She fucking craves this, his mouth on her slit, the power she holds in this position. He's just as skilled with this weapon as he is with his pen and it makes her just as wet.

The press of his nose against her clit as his tongue enters her valley makes her fingers clench and her lower body undulate. The scruff of his chin brushes her as he laps at her juices. She begins to move against him, slow at first, while the energy builds up inside her.

"God, Castle, please don't...don't stop."

He doesn't stop. He feels her body give over to him wholly, just for him, just because of him. He wraps his arms around her and presses his forehead to her. He can feel her aftershock, her body not ready for the end. He grins, that subtle and knowing grin.

"So, Castle," she whispers, "you ready for that dessert now?"

"I just had it, Detective."

She grins too.

* * *

_**Beckett/Hunt:**_

_**"Sad angst sex after Castle turns her down in The Limey"**_

It wasn't a decision, really, more of a reaction, her call to Hunt after Castle had walked out on her moments before. A drink seemed harmless enough. He was on his way back to London, after all, and it wasn't as though anyone...Castle, would care. This was growing ever more obvious. What could it hurt?

It was her town, she knew a place. Thirty minutes later, they were sharing a small table at The Old Haunt. But, no, this wasn't about Castle.

They sipped, they made small talk, mostly about work because what else was there, and she did her best to pretend she didn't have one eye on the door every time it opened. Even if Castle did walk through, it would more than likely be on the arm of the flight attendant. The fun and uncomplicated flight attendant.

Hunt had gone to fetch round three or maybe it was four, she didn't know anymore. Honestly, she wasn't sure if she cared. She checked her phone. Why, she wasn't certain. Nothing. She scanned the room, a cop thing, and her eyes landed on him at the bar, some blonde attached to his bicep. Another blonde.

She felt it rise in her, the heat not of desire but of confusion and bitterness and anger. He was supposed to be with her.

She wanted out and she made her way to the door without so much as another glance in his direction. He, however, took notice of her just as she grabbed the door handle and caught up to her as she neared the top of the stairs.

"Kate, what's the matter? Where are you going?"

She shook his hand from her elbow. "I just - I need to go," she answered without further explanation and continued down the block.

He stood confused for a moment before he ran to try again, to try to understand what had happened. "Kate, stop. Did I do something?"

She didn't want to explain. She didn't know what she would say even if she tried. She just wanted to not think about it. About Castle. About them not being...anything anymore. She grabbed Hunt by the lapel and dragged him into the alley. His body hit the brick wall hard and it forced the air out of his lungs.

"Ka-" was all he managed to whisper before her mouth was on his. Her tongue tasted his scotch laden breath. Her body pressed into him and though he didn't understand at all what her motivations were, his arousal was uncontrollable. His hands moved down her body and back up again to each side of her face. They were smaller, rougher, not...Castle's. She remembered well.

Her left hand grabbed the back of his neck while her right grabbed at the front of his now all too tight jeans. If Castle could do this so easily, so could she. "Fuck me. Now," she ordered more than begged, and his zipper was yanked open to free him. She then prepared herself without want of his touch in that way.

She reversed their positions and took him in without a sound. He grabbed and groped and she waited for it to be over. Waited to feel better.

It was over. Quickly. She didn't feel better. She didn't feel anything - except sore from where the brick had marked her skin. She deserved that.

Hunt gathered himself. She did the same. Her phone had fallen to the ground at some point and he picked it up and handed it to her. She checked it to be certain it wasn't damaged and noticed that she had missed a text message.

_11:07pm_…6 minutes ago.

Richard Castle: "Kate, can we talk?"

* * *

_**Castle/Beckett:**_

_**"From the Nikki Heat books: Castle can smell her. Nobody else can because they're not as finely tuned to her as he is, or because he feels like he just had his fingers inside her (morning sex/coffee break/whatever), but he can and it's all he can think about. Leads to oral, preferably at work, and she's all, 'but I'm busy', but he just needs to taste."**_

She'd left him hours ago, left him in the mussed sheets perfumed with their passion and her soap...her lotion...her shampoo, her everything. He knows every one. His brain has memorized them all, catalogued them in a filing system more efficient than any computer imaginable. His favorites are those reserved only for him, the dab of rose between her breasts, the honey of her lip balm, the musk between her thighs.

He sits up slowly, cursing the morning light, and leans his fingernail-imprinted back against the leather of the headboard. He grins, remembering vividly the events that brought those souvenirs about. His hands slide through his morning hair, across his sleepy eyes and down his scruffy cheeks before his senses are kicked alive, by her.

It's cruel. It's cruel and magnificent. The sudden flood of memory. The way he made her beg in whispers, her shivers that made her soft, tiny hairs stand on end, her warm juices that dripped and ran over his tongue and his fingers and his cock.

She's gone.

But, she's all over him, left as a gift, a reminder of what's his.

His fingers make home, cupped around his nose and his mouth as he endeavors to bring her into his body once again. He craves her. He needs her. He wants her. Now.

He saunters casually into the precinct though his entire being has wanted nothing more for the last hour than to teleport to the freckle on the inside of her thigh. He had decided not to shower, which was less about running late and more about not being ready to wash her away.

He spots her at her desk immediately, no doubt dealing with the mountain of paperwork gifted by their last case. Even the sight of her from the back arouses him - the long mane of hair he had grabbed firmly hours ago.

He approaches quietly, her coffee in hand, making certain her boss' peering eyes aren't upon them before leaning to whisper a "good morning, Detective" into her ear. She turns quickly, surprised. He moves slowly, calculated. Nearly nose to nose, he's able to draw in her clean and her new, a sharp contrast to what he carries with him.

"Castle, what are you doing?"

"What - I - sorry," he manages before stepping back and finding his seat.

He can't stop staring. She notices.

"What's wrong with you, Castle? You're being weird, or weirder than usual."

She's paying him far less attention than he's currently craving, her nose buried in forms and files.

"I'm just...can we go somewhere, right now, together, somewhere, now..."

"Seriously, Castle? Did you hit your head on the way here or something?"

He chuckles, attempting to alleviate the awkwardness of the entire exchange. "Must be low blood sugar or something, I haven't eaten breakfast yet."

"Well, why don't you go do that and let me work so I can get out of here at a decent hour today, okay?"

Of course he wants that, but -

"Fine, I'll make you a deal - "

"Whatever, Castle," she barks, "what's the deal?"

Between flashing images of her pressed against the stairwell wall, the feel of her hands gripping his for balance, the taste of her radiating skin and the whimper of her longing, he nearly forgets that he's supposed to be speaking now.

"Castle!"

"Right, sorry. The deal is: you come somewhere with me right now and then I'll make myself scarce so that you can finish your whatever so that you can come home to me at a decent hour."

"Your charity knows no bounds, you know that?" she retorts. "I'm giving you 5 minutes, starting now."

He yanks her out of her chair before she knows it's happening and leads her surreptitiously to the stairwell, bringing her down one level for better cover.

"Oh my g...Castle. What the hell is..."

He's on her then, mouth on mouth, body against body, his hand already freeing the button of her jeans from its security. He breaks from her and lowers himself to his knees, forcefully grabbing the fabric at her hips on his way down.

"Casssss" is all he hears and it only serves to feed his urgency.

His tongue is on her, in her, over her, quenching every bit of the thirst that has been plaguing him.

To his great delight and dismay, it doesn't take long for her to break under his lips. A sound of deep satisfaction emanates from each, his in the form of a hum and hers in the form of a chuckle.

"Wow," she murmurs.

He meets her eyes, a smile across his face. "Sorry about that. I just really wanted to eat out for breakfast this morning."


End file.
